I don't know whether it's yours or mine: The problem of emotional constipation. It always used to seem impossible for you to talk things over, to be expressing emotions verbally. Perhaps that's why you've developed such an incredible mechanism of uncertainty?
Possibly both of us, though, I mean, it's not like I never feel reluctant to talk or to express my feelings, to spell it out…
Still, how does one take such seemingly selfless act as abandonment? Impossible!
Yet the emergence of feelings of rejection has got to have a cause, no?
I guess it might have been love, but it's over now?
Ugh. Silly reference point. Besides, who gives a damn?
***
I was almost screaming out of my head at one point, but instead just lying there, wishing I could get a mindless fuck and go to sleep.
Sex as a subject of mental recreation must have been amonst the most favourable of all lonely people. I remember reading different writers' exposition on usefulness of sex in the adult lives of immature, romantic, and socially irresponsible characters. They are babies trapped in a full-grown body. After all they just want a world in which there is no others, where he is the world, and where the notion of "Self" needn't exist. So many of the fed-up-with-selves, loathing-selves, and on-a-constant hunt-for-anything-moving adults are just wanting to lose themselves in sex.
Never thought I would be one day wishing that I were just having sex with a body, not a person.
Ugh.
Why is it so hard to admit that you've fallen out of love with someone? What are we dreading?
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